Fallen Angel Blue
by Precognition74
Summary: amidst the flickering candle light, a single name stood out, craved on unrefined stone. Takatori Mamoru
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz doesn't belong to me. So please dun sue. Thanks.  
  
A/N: I know I ought to update A New Life days ago, but instead I was working on a few ideas I couldn't get outta my head. So I'll get back to it when I'm done  
  
===== Fallen Angel Blue  
  
Chapter 1 (Teaser) =====  
  
The wind blew dusk out. Only a few seconds ago, there had een a dim glowfrom the sun. it diminished with the cold evening air. How incredibly apt.  
  
A lone flickering flame hovered restlessly above a white freesia- scented wax candle. It danced not merrily, but slowly, to a soundless murmur.  
  
And before this candle, three solemn figures standing silently, they were clad in black clothes. One wielding a Katana, another, a harigane, and third, gleaming bugnuks at the knuckles. There seemed an odd aura around these three. Shinigami they reeked, tasted and felt like the rumored Angel of Death.  
  
Shinigami hey surrounded a miserable mound of stone. On it was craved a single name. Takatori Mamoru. The red-head gripped his katana tightly. 'Once a Takatori, you die a Takatori.'  
  
All three mourned for a fallen comrade. There had been no body. No human body could stand an explosion that took out an entire block. When he flames had died down, there was nothing left standing, only ash soot and a memory of a good friend.  
  
Bombay had been in the vents when it happened. He was doing a preliminary infiltration before the actual thing involving the whole of Weiß. There wasn't a second part to the mission anymore. The explosion had taken out the targot too.  
  
Kimura Yoshida had been luckier, much further away from the centre of the placement of C4, the corpse looked ghastly. Waxy pale skin melted into the charred remains. Grey eyes burnt brown were still wide open in shock. The scene smelt like cooked flesh. Human flesh.  
  
In the darkness, a lone tear trailed down emerald green as three figure made their way down the hill and the grave.  
  
'Although you die a Takatori, to us, you'll always be Tsukiyono Omi. Bombay of Weiß' that was an unspoken agreement. 


	2. Chapter two

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz belongs to Takehito Koyasu, Weiß Project and all other related people. It'll never be mine sigh  
  
========== Fallen Angel Blue Chapter 2 ==========  
  
Since the fall of Esset, and since the death of Bombay, Schwarz and Weiß saw little of each other. Perhaps by some coincidence or fate they had only met three times; all were minor skirmishes.  
  
Fujimiya Aya was studying in Todai University and was staying at campus. She visited the Koneko every Sunday. Her very presence lit up the shop. Of course, Aya-chan was no comparison to Omi. Her joy was as potent as an oil lamp where as Omi was the sun. Everyone mourned his absence.  
  
Then, there were the mission. They came and went. Weiß never allowed any of their family to go on a solo mission anymore. They'd rather refuse it. Even a simple reconnaissance, was carried out by at least 2 people.  
  
Ran, Yohji and Ken would visit Omi's grave after every mission, telling their fallen comrade of all details, not matter how sordid. It calmed them to tell Omi that another dark one was annihilated, and that many innocents were saved by it. It gave them inner peace or as much as an assassin could have.  
  
One year had past since the unpolished stone bearing Takatori Mamoru had been present. Those after-mission visits to Omi's grave still went on, with fresh flowers of Cattlya, rose and Gentalia; to remind Omi of them. Occasionally would come freesias; tiny, white and innocent: Omi's image flower.  
  
Omi's room was empty, his belongings packed in a container and stored in the mission room. His state-of-the-art laptop was still used in missions, by Yohji of course. Balinese's skill with computers, however, could not compare with Bombay's. Really, things were more difficult without Omi around. But Manx and Birman never mentioned that they would introduce a new member to Weiß. It would be too much to bear; to see an utter stranger try to replace Omi. Sit in the chair Omi used wear the apron Omi wore, use the lethal and tranquilizing darts Omi used, to use Omi's beloved laptop, to sleep in Omi's room, where their little 'baby' had spent countless nights reliving nightmares and sweet dreams too.  
  
However, unknown to Weiß, there were two other people that visited Mamoru's grave every so often. One was a youth of almost 17 years. The other boy was a little younger than 19. Sure, the 17-year-old boy (who had once wore uniforms everyday though he did not go to school) knew of Weiß's visit. His name is Naoe Nagi. Nagi did not once bump into the rest of Weiß. He made sure of it.  
  
The Schwarz telekinetic brought not flowers of gifts. Instead, he just kept a watchful silence. Safety promised to an old enemy. Nagi had been immensely fascinated by the projectile wielder of Weiß. It was wrong of him, but Nagi felt a deep rooted love for the other boy. He spoke nothing of it, enduring it slightly.  
  
The wide cerulean eyes, inextinguishable smile that even shown after a taxing battle. He was sunshine. An Apocalypse had befallen Nagi. He spends nothing less than 8 hours per week gazing softly upon Omi's face; memorizing every detail. It was a photo, no doubt taken quite a long time before death but still, it was him. Another past. And Nagi loathed to think of how the body and soul existed.  
  
Crawford had chastised him for being weak. Schuldig had just smiled sinisterly. Farefello would only gaze adoringly at an old picture of the crucifixion of Christ. Sure, missions were in the agenda, Schwarz would take up a bodyguard job to one rich politician or another. But Nagi felt distanced from it all. His heart was captured in the vice-grip of Tsukiyono Omi.  
  
Then there was the other visitor. Neither Weiß nor Nagi knew he visited. That young man never got too close. He studied the weeping hearts of people before the grave, an then a wry smile would go over him. This man would remain anonymous for a time to come.  
  
Now let's forget about that man for the time being and return to the main story.  
  
Let me remind you that the men of Weiß are not simple men, after all, it was they that destroyed Esset, they that took many lives, it was they that should have died at some time or another but did not. We know that Weiß is special. More so than Manx would ever know, more than Birman would ever think.  
  
I shall begin with Fujimiya Ran: hair of crimson colour and strange amethyst eyes that look into one's soul. Outwardly, he seemed a rather cold man. A man determined not to be bothered by the thoughts, words and feelings of others. The truth is that he feels them. He does. Ran feels everybody's thoughts and emotions. They are as clear as glass and even more so. But that was when he was a youth. Before his joining of Weiß. Now he is but a normal man. That ability to empathize with others was lost with his stolen gift. Perhaps one day the ability of communication may be returned to him once again.  
  
Then we move to Hidaka Ken, the ex-goalie of a soccer team. He was extremely talented in the game and even after leaving the team, his love for soccer never died. Now Ken had almost died in a fire started by a local yakuza; he was severely burnt, with 3rd degree burns covering almost more than 50% of his body. Ken should have died. But under the rubble before his extraction from warehouse debris, his injuries were healing at such an alarming rate that when Manx had put in the Kritiker hospital he was almost fully healed. How strange indeed. It was a miracle in and of itself. There was nothing special about his physical make-up, it must have been mental then? Nevertheless, we know that Hidaka is talented in healing.  
  
About these two kittens of weiß, Schwarz knew that they were low- level psychic. They were of no concern. Of the other two, Yohji was known to be slightly more gifted, but untrained. He left trails of psychic energy everywhere and Schwarz made sure to cover those tracks. Why? One may ask. Perhaps they saw that Yohji was better off if he weren't discovered by Rosen Kreuz. Maybe it was a trace of compassion of then that refused to let another suffer what they had.  
  
And how about the last Weiß kitten? The kitten whose grave stood in the cemetery? Nothing. Tsukiyono Omi was nothing. Schwarz did not sense a hint of psychic power in the boy. Schuldig was allowed to rampage quite a while back. When Omi was alive and well, to search in his mind for any latent abilities that had not yet manifested. However, until the citadel fell, Schuldig felt not a thread of ESP in the boy. And then, Omi died. However, it irked Crawford to no end to see than Omi had fallen. It disturbed the precognitive that amongst so many gifted, one was not. He refused to believe it. Because somewhere, Crawford had a feeling, a hunch that Omi was extremely gifted, probably more so than him. And not only that, he felt that Omi was alive.  
  
Certainly, Bradley Crawford knew that his young telekinetic was smitten with Bombay. He knew of the boy's frequent visits to Omi's stone. He knew of Nagi's love for the other boy. It never bothered him nor the rest of Schwarz that Nagi loved Omi. But it just wasn't done. There was no purpose in mourning and loving a person that had already departed from the mortal realm. Nagi was just wasting away with time and his youth. Precious.  
  
Crawford knew that under that sly smirk of Schuldig lay a heart of gold. Okay, perhaps not gold, Schuldig was not that kindhearted, but he cared for the littlest Schwarz. Crawford knew that Schuldig cared deeply for Nagi and did not expect any less. Also, despite what many think, Farefello was nothing short of sane. The manipulator just had strange concepts. That he did. And strange indeed that he would believe that anything other than his truth be blasphemy but Crawford knew that Farefello was not insane. He was just smart. He was just a philosopher that enjoyed tormenting the churches. Sometimes, Crawford wondered what beauty of the crucifix held his rapt attention for so long.  
  
Yes, we know of Schwarz now, and I had carelessly left out more elaboration on Balinese, perhaps I should have done so earlier? Then maybe you will not be so confuse then. What terrible powers did Kudo Yohji behold? No, it would not be terrible. Yohji's powers are pretty harmless. Yes, powers. Contrary to popular belief psychic rarely had only one gift. Because the gifts are similar, just different faculties of the same mind, it is more than likely that a psychic would have excess to a variety of powers and of different strengths. Now, most psychics specialize in only 2 to 3 disciplines. Yohji is no different.  
  
On every other night, amidst a pub or disco or nightclub, a small glass of vodka would light up without a lighter in a display of beauty. And always, there were tales trailing around that a certain lanky man with emerald green eyes could give much pleasure for his bedmate of the night. Crawford suspected that Balinese be a pryokinetic of undefined strength and an empath of the middle-class. But any ESP that would be able to develop was never given the chance to. Yohji never bothered to use them for anything other than impressing the ladies. A waste, really.  
  
Now, we're done with Yohji, let's move back to the main characters of this story, for I seem to digress a great deal.  
  
For the next few months, the stranger gazed at Nagi at each visit. This stranger had blue eyes which sparkled like the stars. He watched Nagi silently.  
  
In those months Nagi began to suspect someone watching him on those visits. That person's presence prickled at his back, raising his alarm. His curiousity was peaked, as was his annoyance. There came a day that he would bear it not longer, but shouted to seemingly nobody, "Who is it? Step out."  
  
The stranger smiled but did not come out of the shadows. Instead, he disappeared amongst the maple tress. There would be no residue of his visit. From then on, Nagi never felt the presence of the stranger again. Somewhere in his head, a soft caressing voice would whisper secrets he could not even begin to fathom. They told him that his love was the stranger, but Nagi would not believe. His beloved slept forever in peace unable to wake up again; and for the whole of his life, he would cry until he met his precious jewel in the next world. Then again, he would tell himself that his angel would not want him to live a life like that. Was it possible to feel such a deep-seated love and devotion for a boy he barely knew? Nagi knew he could. Crystalline tears shone in the orange sky, 'for you I cry...' 


End file.
